


Soda Pop Kisses and The Blues

by lechatnoir



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, M/M, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2017-12-14 18:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lechatnoir/pseuds/lechatnoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keep your head up and watch the days flicker on by.</p><p>(a series of drabbles and ficlets about Edward and Thomas and their little up and downs in life)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sing me a little tune, song bird

I.

When he was a little boy , he would dream of wooden clocks painted gold and blue with reds and oranges , dragons scaling along the sides and birds flying through the cuckoo's nest each and every hour , musical chimes humming through the workshop that his father had built with the leftover money that he hasn't had the chance to drink away at the pub down the street.

 

He thinks maybe that he is a cuckoo that flew from the nest an crashed a few feet away from the nest which is why he ended up the way that he was, bitter and closed off and it is a river that courses through his blood, cold and biting and it's very much like himself .

 

(He remembers angry shouts and cowering in the corner , fiddling with the old mechanisms of a worn, battle torn grandfather clock that has seen far too many hands tend to it and toss it aside like a hunk of scrap metal for years to come.)

 

Thomas Barrow thinks the old , dilapidated grandfather clock is beautiful in its own way, for it kept him company as the thunder rumbled outside his window and the lightning crashed inside the kitchen walls, broken plates and glass bottles and hushed , fevered whispers that scurried around like rats in the cracks of his skin. 

He knows bitter words and carries an obnoxious attitude about himself to keep himself safe .

 

He doesn't mind it so much when Edward crashes into his life, frazzled hair and lanky frame and freckles to boot and he thinks that he never did like freckles but he thinks he can make an exception for Edward.

 

(Always Edward, never anyone else)

 

ii.

It is the rattle of the old diner on the corner block of his house. there's something about it being there since the 1920s that makes it warm and safe and quiet .

 

There is the gentle hustle and bustle of dishwashers and the ever present voice of Mrs. Patmore yelling and scolding Daisy, the newly hired assistant cook , the sound of quarters turning in the jukeboxes that crooned out anything if they put their metal tin heads together.

It was dysfunctional and odd but it was his home, whether it was with his biological family or the family that he had accidentally been adopted into by being one of their very few but constant customers .

He remembers bringing Edward there for some lunch and a soda pop to get some studying done one rainy day when the wind howled and it was a summer storm that stole them away and he  remembers the taste of soda pop on his lips and Edward's smile that seemed to be filled with a million shooting stars but it's alright , because they had the rain to covet then and hide them away from prying eyes .

Jukebox blisses and blue lips

He would remember those two things with a bit of blush in his cheeks and he'd lace their fingers together , tug Edward forward and they'd laugh with the rain, soda pop kisses killing the hours away.


	2. Summer Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pitter patter and a kiss

I.

He thinks of old photos stuck behind the dusty panes of the old glass picture frames and thinks of how simple it would be, to tear apart and rip away his skin, because he can't remember their faces , not until after he had lost vision to the singing crows of bomb shells flying and dead men walking and all he can do is laugh and laugh, bubbling over into hysterics but it is fine because no one notices him at all - he's simply a sorry soul, a boy in the skin of flesh and bones with damaged eyes and a glass pierced heart.

He is shaking limbs and old ghosts that cackle in his ear, a piercing wailing cry that no one can hear but he himself and it is a fury that latches onto him, leaves him shaking and seething.

There are harsh breaths that slip through his lips , shut tight by the anger that pounds through his head like an angry drum.

(Loose lips sink ships) 

There is a knock on the door and he musters every ounce of strength not to take the nearest heavy weight object and smash it through because even now the demons want to infiltrate his safe haven that he made and it simply isn't fair that -

"Ed? Can I come in?"

He tells himself to relax and breath 

(Inhale and exhale and inhale and exhale) 

And he can only let out sobs that wrack his body for he feels tired and stupid and he wants to go away then and there.

(He doesn't notice the quiet creaking of the door nor the unsteady footsteps that Thomas has, careful not to scare him off and wanting to get to him as quickly as possible because he can hear the warning signs and he needs to be there , be the anchor in this raging storm.)

He realizes that when Thomas wraps his arms around him , he can breath again and his mind is calm, the ocean still as sleep .

ii.

It's the crack of the shutters against the window pane, loft airy and cool in the hot summer day as the sun storm continued roaring through the sky , bits of dark overhead clouds and bright blue clarity danced and chased each other around.

"You know, you could take a break , just this once from your school stuff."

Edward mutters quietly and yet there is a hidden mantra that plasters and morphs itself onto the walls like a hidden serpent , poison dripping like white flower hymns . 

(do you love me? 

can you love me?

why do you love me? )

Thomas only smiles and mutters in response "Alright , alright I'll take a small break , I can double back up la---"

He doesn't get to say the rest of what he had to say because he didn't expect to be greeted by a soft kiss from the blind man and yet , he thinks he'll be alright .

It's the soft hymn of the rain smelling sweet on the summer day and they can only laugh and smile at each other like fools and perhaps that's what they were , fools in love.


	3. Climbing Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a storm that howls and rages but they think they can take it on and win

I.

Sometimes, when Edward was younger and Jack was too young to talk and burn with the need to beat him in every single way , he thinks of running away with nothing but the clothes on his back and some money in his pocket.

He thinks of running to the tune of an old song , thumping to the rhythm of his heart pitter pattering against the dirt roads and long forgotten pavements with no one but the wind for company and the night sky to talk to.

(He dreams and dreams and when he get drafted into the army he can only think - foolishly- that this is an adventure that he had been dreaming of since he was little. 

He thinks he will hunt and kill and fish and see the wonders of the world and he believed that he had a shot, a chance to change the world, to photograph memories and listen to the carnival hymns as he and his fellow soldiers walk through old towns, war torn and shattered and that he would see the hope quietly burning in the eyes of the survivors.)

He never expected to be blinded and fall to the earth's surface, like a smashed bird burning like Icarus against the sun's beams.

ii.

 

Thomas has taken to keep track of Edward's mail , learning what names mean what to Edward, watching his face burn in anger or slack in defeat because of the very state of his condition and he thinks that he doesn't want to see Edward mad or upset .

And yet he cannot coddle him and hold him like a child, so he watches.

He watches and sees when Edward puts up his walls, when it's fine to tiptoe on eggshells and when to be blunt and harsh and bitter , and when to sigh and murmur nothing but old poetry in his ear and kiss away the frowns from Edward's face .

 

He takes to watching the storm pass , and he keeps the letters close to his chest , where a candle burnt bright and lethal but it burned and that was far better than anything that had happened to Thomas in his life, that is, before Edward managed to stumble through and seize his hart with no mercy at all.

(He wouldn't have had it any other way and maybe that's why Edward reminded him of a summer storm , something strong and powerful and warm and volatile and even fragile but never the less he manages to sweep him off his feet and wonder at how they found the other half of their tattered, broken souls )

iii. 

He doesn't tell Edward that he spends what time he has learning how to write and read Braille , even though he asks , constantly, with a halo of curiosity and lips slacking ever so slightly, pale and kissable and Thomas has to smack himself to focus because it is a small project that he had decided to work on and maybe the walls will crumble and the storm will pass.


	4. Kiss the Doubt Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wine and doubt do make the mind a devil

I.

They don't quite remember anything other than it was a hot summer day when they decided to splurge and buy a bottle of wine for a silly anniversary dinner that held no real meaning , not really.

It's a silly story told in still picture frames and white sheets of paper scribbled with red pen marks like old discarded love letters from long ago , when people still cared about the small, simple stuff. 

Thomas thinks Edward's like that, an old soul from long ago, lost and battered but unfaltering and strong and he still doesn't know how or why Edward stays with him but he thinks , it's more the wine that's making him nervous and why can't his hands stop shaking like leaves and he thinks he needs a smoke because he can't handle things - can't make himself believe that he's had some sense of normalcy, how he managed to not fuck up for this long well, he doesn't know the answer to that. 

It's the warm summer air that caresses his face and dances with the smoke from his cigarette as he breathes him and out and he can't help but smile as Edward wraps his arms around his waist and press gentle butterfly kisses to the back of his neck and all he can think of is 

'Thank you thank you thank you '

And he's sure that this is the happiest he's been in quite some time , and it's not the alcohol talking this time . 

ii.

"Hey, Thomas?"

"Mm?"

There is a silence that stretches on and on like a viper about to strike before Edward speaks again and it's something that Thomas asks himself in disbelief and disgust with himself - 

"Why. . . Are you here? Why are you tied down to some blind idiot ?"

And Thomas Barrow, for that moment , was silent as stone until he managed to process what Edward had said -

That he would be ashamed of him, that he would be embarrassed and that he - no no no . 

He manages to shake himself out of a stupor , moves in front of Edward who has been facing the window that overlooks the large park outside their apartment building 

(It's the one with the least car exhaust and the most quiet window, perfect for thinking and contemplating. )

He takes Ed's hands into his own, shaking and trembling hands against strong sturdy hands - 

"Edward Courtenay , you - you utterly perfect man I - I should be the one asking you those questions , not you , me."

He leans in and kisses him gently, in between each word, as if they were a couple of teenagers . 

"But aren't you bored of m-"

Thomas cuts him off with a kiss and a murmured   
"No"

against his lips and they slowly rebuild from where their insecurities and demons ravaged and destroyed . 

"I'm sorry for being an idiot "

"Just let me kiss you senseless, lieutenant"

"A-alright"


	5. Puzzle work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is fumbling around and lazy kisses

i.

Summer is spending days lounging around like lazy cats and listening to the radio crackle as the fan sputtered an coughed and tried to do its job but it was old and wonky and probably worse for wear anyway, or maybe that was just Thomas Barrow coughing and sputtering and possibly dying as well , seeing as he was curled up in woolen socks and bundled up in woolen blankets and duvets and down with a nasty case of either pneumonia or flu or something , but he's too stubborn to go see a doctor even when Edward tells him he probably should because it sounds like a dying skunk whenever he opened his mouth and that certainly didn't improve Thomas' mood in the slightest.

Which is why Edward was sitting on the armchair , keeping watch and thinking to himself how if he wasn't useless he'd go and make Thomas some tea or cookies or -- wait

wait

That was it.

That was - yes yes of course !

He jumps from his seat and grabs his walking stick , gently prodding and poking the space in front and around himself as he walked into the kitchen and went about trying to find what he needed .

He wanted to make some tea , maybe a few cookies , with a dollop of honey to sooth the pains.

He knows where everything is , he's had the time to memorize everything , because he'd always help Thomas when food was concerned but this was ...

It was an oddly present surprise when running his fingers over the wall he noticed the words "stove" "next to" "wall" written in them and he's filled to the brim with - _can it be?_

He thinks it is a mistake but then the realization dawns on him 

\- Everything is riddled with some sort of clue.

There are little changes in the texture of the material - as if there was something that was taken apart, or ... or attached. 

Stuck together with a piece of duck tape .

Plastered on top of the material.

And he can feel the sturdy hum of the wooden bookcase as he taps along the floorboards with his walking stick and trails a paper thin path with his fingertips and it's as if it's an old friend greeting him hello, that he can hear the books and the names of them flicker on by, like leaves drifting in the autumn wind.

_Jane Eyre_

_Frankenstein_

_Wuthering Heights_

_The Great Gatsby_

_Much Ado About Nothing_

__

It is as if he can see the worlds inside of the books , just by trailing his fingers over the spines , reading over the names again again.

He doesn't hear Thomas get up and shuffle on through to the kitchen until he sniffles and coughs slightly and Edward's body trembles a little as if he was a wound up spring about to burst but his voice is steady and strong and carries over -

"Thomas, did you. . . Did you label everything in the apartment "

"Maybe"

Edward can only smile and shake his head before making his way over to where Thomas was , and it's the sound of duvet covers being used as body blankets or oversized capes and the gentle shift of hands against the soft fabric and a startled little 'Ah!' before silence and a pleasant hum in the quiet vicinity of their little home .

Edward kisses him and Thomas has half a mind to push him off but he's too weak and tired from the sickness rattling through him but he doesn't want him to get sick and yet Edward only murmurs quietly - 

"A kiss won't kill me " 

and that's the end of that argument .

ii. 

They curl up on the couch in a nest of duvets and blankets and it's Edward absentmindedly running his hands through Thomas's hair , trailing ghost kisses along flushed skin , counting how many kisses it takes to make the steady breathing stutter and falter,listening to his heartbeat speed up like a drum ,beating away like a hummingbird and the utter simplicity of it all.

"You're the devil, Edward"

"Who, _me_ ?" 

is the reply served with a grin and a kiss to Thomas' collarbone and neck, 

and he's given a reply of shivers and little gasps and a quiet whisper of want and need and it's them moving around underneath the duvet cover with their hands laced together and hesitant kisses from both parties and they fumble around and bump noses a few times and laugh like little children and move against each other and it works , somehow.


	6. Fever Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares and Dreamscapes but Edward's there to keep Thomas grounded.

I.

Sometimes he thinks of the familiar scent of early rain, how the dew drops would stick to the green grass and early leave , how there seemed to be so much motion in such a small quantity , and he thinks of the wind and how everything seemed to be bathed in a dance of beiges and pinks and oranges and he doesn't know why or how but he finds himself waking up earlier and earlier each day because there's something missing and he doesn't know what exactly but there's something that's gone and he doesn't know what it is.

He watches the sun rise and listens to Edward's calm breathing and he realizes what he's been missing all this time and he thinks that he's been blind like the old tragic heroes from the greek plays and he can feel some sort of hysterical laughter bubble up in his throat and he doesn't know why except that he is trembling and shaking and 

His bones are rattling underneath his skin. 

ii.

Edward wakes slowly but he doesn't say anything , just rests and feels the tension in the room and he thinks Thomas is in one of his slumps again .

 

(There's really no other name to put it as because it's not a funk nor is it something that is reoccurring but he doesn't know why or how but Thomas gets these spells and it's as if he is a old angry beast, rattling away in rustic , metal lungs with a heart drenched and drowning in crude oil .)

He moves and shifts until the sheets pool around his waist and he touches Thomas's hand gently, hesitantly , before waiting and seeing if it was alright, if a touch would be permitted instead of a scream or a yell. 

He raises it to his lips and kisses it gently and murmurs quietly - 

"What's on your mind?"

And Thomas slowly slips out of his reverie and murmurs something about the world and how much his head hurts and if it would r alright if he could just rest his head in Edward's lap because then he'd focus on fingers dancing through his hair and that'd be more than enough, and he would be able to rest for just a minute more.

“You don’t need to ask me that, Thomas. Of course you can.” 

Is all that Edward says before shifting and focusing on Thomas’ breathing and it’s just – it’s not fine, not by any means, but they’ll get past it, like they always do.

“You remind me of a broken picture frame taped back together and there’s uneven edges and the glass is sharp but you’re whole, not completely , and not perfectly, but you’re whole” 

Edward mutters, shifting and humming underneath his breath because there’s a silence that is both deafening and relaxing, and it’s as if they’re underneath the ocean’s calm, that is rocking them to an uneasy but tired sleep. 

And maybe, that’s alright.


	7. Through Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes there are glass shards riddled up in his veins, and a viper sits in his head, venom dripping into his system.
> 
> He thinks maybe, things would have been different, if he had out runned the tear gas, maybe then he wouldn't have been such a sad stupid boy.

i.

Sometimes there’s a small thought that ripples through Edward’s mind and it sets him off into a cycle of self loathing and hatred , coiled black like a dark viper set to bare its fangs at him and striking fast, no mercy, no hesitation.

He wonders, what would happen if he wasn’t blind.

If he had moved faster, gotten out of the way of the tear gas that rips through his eyes, eating away at the flesh and leaving burn marks everywhere.

(You’re terribly ugly)

(No one wants you) 

(Worthless little farmer boy) 

He wonders, if he would have met Thomas, what would have happened between them?

He can only laugh in the quiet darkness of the room, the sun is fast asleep, and the silver of the knife seems like a grand old friend of his.

ii. 

Thomas thinks that Edward doesn’t seem to notice, when he goes off on his own and he’s not going to coddle him. 

It’s not in his nature to do so, because he’s Thomas Barrow, walls up and harsh words extraordinaire, but he thinks back to shaking hands and whimpers of fear that scribble out of his lungs late in the dark night,

And he remembers how Edward would wake up and hold him, and tell him it’s alright.

He’s not alone.

He thinks, as he walks up the steps to their apartment, that there is a panic that seizes him, and he starts to run run run as fast as his legs can take him. 

He notices how the shades are shut tight when he enters the place, and how eerily quiet it is.

The bathroom door is unlocked when he pushes against it gently, silent as the wind.

He bends down, sits in front of Edward and gently takes the knife from his trembling hands, whispering

\- 

“You’re not alone Ed, you’re not alone. I’m here.”

He leans and kisses him gently, and it’s trembling hands that cling to him as a lifeline and they sit on the bathroom floor together, Edward in Thomas’ arms and they’ll make it, somehow.

The sun seems to shine gently, bathing them in a warm glow.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry” Edward mutters, sobs shaking through his body as he clings to Thomas and he thinks of how pathetic he is, but the thought of ending it all, of leaving nothing behind but a cold corpse and the inky darkness of a quiet mind seems to unnerve him more than bring him comfort.

Thomas doesn’t say anything – doesn’t need to – he holds him close and that’s how they stay, until the sobs eventually subside and Edward sags against him , tired and eyes closing.

“I want to sleep.” 

Is all that Edward says and Thomas nods, before shifting and picking him up gently, laughing a bit as Edward lets out a huff and a bit of a squeak and a “What are you doing!?” because he wasn’t expecting that at all. 

“I’m carrying you to bed, Ed.”

“I’m not a girl you know, I can walk.”

“You look like you’re about to nod off to sleep.”

“Feel like it too.”

“Exactly why I’m carrying you.”

“Thomas?”

“Mm?”

“Thank you.”

He puts him down on the bed and moves to the other side, curling up next to him and he kisses his forehead gently and mutters – 

“Don’t thank me, just please tell me if you’re going to do something risky like that. I was scared shitless.” 

They fall asleep wrapped up in each other, hands clasp together and it’s warm dreams that drift between them as the sun shines on them.


	8. Drowning Hymn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is an old leather journal, a summer storm, and a silver lining in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, you can find me under 'chrysanthemumskies' on tumblr!
> 
> I wonder if I should start posting the chapters onto tumblr as well? I think I will uvu! 
> 
> Sorry for the lack of updates!

i.

There’s an old journal that Thomas thinks back to from time to time, an old worn out thing that happens to travel with him in the back pocket of his bag – or coat – and he never really gives much thought to it, not really.

It’s one ratty old journal in the midst of the whirlwind of the days that pass by him, why would he even bother, really? 

Except, sometimes, he feels like he’s alone, and while Edward’s always there to listen, always there to smack some sense into him , to kiss the worries away, there are old demons that claw at him sometimes, in the dead of the night.

When there is no one to talk to, only the sound of quiet, calm breathing ringing in his ears instead, and the dark room dancing with the light from the outside, old streetlamps and the moon humming up above in the starless sky. 

(He doesn’t tell anyone that he’s afraid of the ocean, how the large open waters seem to call and beckon him to wade in, to visit , invisible hands and arms that smile instead, pulling and pushing and dragging underneath. 

He was seven when it happened, when he thought the ocean was nothing to be afraid of , stormy waves crashing over him and swallowing him whole, and it was only the grey murky sky that he saw before getting dragged under.

He remembers a pair of lanky arms pulling him up, and a smiling boy that held his hand on the shore of the beach while his parents had appeared from somewhere and it was all static, all shock that buzzed through him.

He doesn’t remember much, only that the boy smiles and tells him he’s alright, and holds his hand, and talks to him quietly – an anchor in the storm.

The boy had started talking to him quietly, while his parents had yelled and cried fervently but that didn’t matter because the boy was warm and seemed to be safe and calm amidst all the chaos and he doesn’t care that Thomas seems to be catatonic, only that he nods from time to time when the boy asks him, asks him if he can hear him, if he could nod for him? 

He remembers, because the boy had held his hand and smiled and said that his name was Edward. 

He never did see him again, the boy with curly hair and hands that were warm against his pale clammy skin, catatonic shock but he was an anchor in the stormy ocean with it’s howling waves that dragged him underneath. ) 

 

He never gives it much thought, but sometimes he thinks back to that day, and laughs quietly to himself because it really couldn’t be, could it? 

_Just your luck , Barrow. Just your stupid luck to maybe have fallen in love with the same guy who saved your sorry self back when you were a kid._

It can’t be him though, he thinks – because that would be terribly odd and improbably stupid of him to think so.

He thinks he should wait until a later day, maybe.

(He wants to bury the thought deep down and forget it, the little silver of hope that won’t stop gnawing away at him. 

Wants to forget, but slowly he stops fighting sleep and slips away, burying his face in the crook of Edward’s neck and feeling him wrap his arm around him and that’s fine, that’s safe. ) 

ii. 

He doesn’t think about the journal, not until a few days later, when the summer sun beats down on them as they sit in the nearby park, old stones and a lake filled with small fish that swim around with not a care in the world. 

They had been talking about maybe meeting up with Sybil – it had been a while since all three of them had seen each other, and Edward had wanted to talk to her for a while now- phone calls were one thing, but well, the physical presence of someone was an entirely different story. 

“Say, Thomas?”

“Mm?”

“Does it feel like we met each other before?”

_before all this, before this lovely lovely whirlwind that happened to be us_

“Dunno. Why’d you ask , Ed?” 

“I don’t know. Sometimes, I think back to one summer, when I was seven I think, and my family decided to go on a trip to one of the beaches, and then somehow, there was a boy – he had raven black hair, and light green grey eyes. He had almost drowned – I remember because I had went in with the lifeguard to help out – really stupid of me, but I was worried – and I remember I had held his hand and I had talked to him while everyone else was hell bent on yelling and causing a lot of noise. And he really wasn’t saying much, but I had asked him to – “ 

“To nod if he heard him. And that his name was Edward” 

Thomas whispered, hands shaking and voice cracking because he thinks he’s a idiot , a complete and utter idiot. 

He stays still, freezes up as Edward touches his hands gently, holds them in his own and he’s an anchor in the summer storm.

Except there’s no storm, only the sun and Thomas’s gently shaking shoulders as he leans in and slumps against Edward, and Edward could only smile, and hold him as the songbirds humming and the sun beamed down on them.

It was a little while before Thomas’ shaking had lessened, but Edward didn’t say anything, only held him close with a ghost of a smile on his face as he closed his eyes and let the sun wash over him, a pleasant calm red behind his eyelids – and he can feel the warmth of it, slowly and surely. 

It wasn’t too hot, nor cold. Just warm. 

It was Thomas who breaks their little woven silence, voice a quiet whisper and Edward has to strain a little to listen – 

“So, you think we’d be able to meet up with Sybil, sometime soon? Maybe Gwen as well, maybe, if you feel like it ?”

Edward only smiles and ducks down to kiss Thomas’ forehead quietly, muttering “That would be nice.”

And it certainly was, on that summer day.


	9. Old Meadow Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is an old field of flowers and a hospital

I.

Sometimes he thinks of old manors and mansions that he used to remember , before the army, when he would go on family trips and Jack would go and boast and yell down long winding acres of grass and wildflowers that seem to stretch as far as their eyes could see, the ocean waves roaring and crashing like old lions along the shoreline and he remembers how Jack would yell and laugh as they'd chase each other, little devil boys with dirt in their hair and scruff marks, rough patches on their skin that the wind caressed gently. 

 

He remembers the summer that he had met Sybil Crawley, the youngest of three daughters who seemed to enjoy putting on shows and running around, and even playing make believe, donning a stick for a sword and she was no maiden in distress.

He remembers summer nights spent giggling over secrets about the different fae folk that they would have seen that day, or the fire snakes that danced around the flower crowns that she taught him how to make.

They had been the best of fiends, the quiet lanky boy who loved books and to hunt and fish and breathe the air that rushed along the winds of the ocean , and the girl who was a little fox , cunning and a storm in her own right and they had been thick as thieves from then on end.

She had been there, had patched him back up when he was just admitted to the medical ward and she had held his hand, listened to the hot iron tears that cascaded down his wrinkle paper skin, scribbled out words with no meaning behind them. 

 

She had met Thomas Barrow not too long after she had been appointed to the position as one of the head nurses in the medical ward , and while he had been a tough character to crack, underneath his cold facade she found a man with far too many scars and a even more lonely heart. 

 

She had introduced them to each other , and slowly but surely they took quiet little steps , little by little and Edward sometimes said that he dreamt of the sea, but instead of water it was filled with flowers - roses and hydrangeas and wildflowers that were free to dance with the wind. 

While he had been there, their old friend Gwen had visited , bringing with her a rackety old camera that she claimed she needed to photograph some photos for a grad school project and Sybil had laughed and nodded and said that if Edward was fine with it, then she could photograph him for her project , if she really did need their help so much . 

Gwen had let out a laugh that seemed to make Edward smile and so she stayed with him for a bit, waiting watching .

(It wasn't until she noticed the subtle changes in Edward whenever one Thomas Barrow would be in the vicinity - Edward would smile more, be less restrained, more open- lively, even , if it was one of his better days.

She had smiled and turned off the flash setting before quietly snapping a few pictures and moving out of the room as Thomas would sit with Edward and they'd talk and talk and be wrapped up in a bubble of their own .

 

And somehow, some time later, they had ran into each other again and had started to see each other quite a bit more, going on little dates and eating in various little cafes and coffee shops, and sometimes , Thomas would take Edward out on a date to the local parks where there were oak trees spiraling high above them and they would walk to the square , where an orchestra would play and sometimes Edward would lean in and press a hesitant kiss onto Thomas' lips, who would smile and respond quite enthusiastically and that's how it was for quite some time, and it worked.

And they were perfectly alright with that .


	10. Mistletoe Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which there are holiday songs and a mistletoe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chrysanthemumskies @ tumblr owo! 
> 
> Happy Holidays everyone!

i.  
There are times that he doesn’t know how it came to be, the fact that they were something of a pattern, as if someone had taken up some yarn that had comprised of their life lines and had knitted them together, weaving in and out, capable and reassuring.  
It’s an odd thing, the fact that he felt so calm and even relaxed around Edward.

(He was old bottled up scars and empty scotch bottles, before. 

He would tear at the seams and fight away at the hands that offered help.) 

Yet, he felt something of a kindred spirit, when they first met.

(For some reason, he thinks of past lives every so often, in the slightest off chance, in the quiet crevices of their little apartment, all grey walls and old worn out wallpapers with old patterns that seemed to be fading away like ghosts.) 

He thinks of the idea that perhaps they were alive together, in another life and perhaps they met, and perhaps, things were odd and different.

Perhaps they never met. 

He wonders and thinks and thinks, and he wonders why the thoughts don’t go away, but it’s the scent of the old wild flowers and sea breeze that dances along Edward’s skin and Thomas can only lean in and kiss his neck gently, before letting the sunbeams beat down on him and lull him to sleep.

It’s odd, what a little quiet afternoon in the outskirts of the city can do to you. 

Ii.

Edward thinks that sometimes Thomas has the personality of a cat who’s been trying to get the cream and the canary and yet all of its dastardly plans always manage to splendidly blow up in its face. 

He wonders what Thomas thinks about, when he gets quiet and tense but he’s not angry – no, no , Edward can tell when Thomas Barrow is angry. 

It’s something like a concentrated distraction, or something that makes your brain rattle around and won’t let you sleep, not even a wink – that’s what it seems to be. 

“What’s on your mind?” is all that he says, quiet and willow long arms and eyes that are like old faded pages in a well worn book. 

Thomas doesn’t say much, just moves closer and presses a kiss to Edward’s forehead and it’s the quiet lull of the rumble of the world outside and the sun seeping in to dance in their little apartment. 

“Just… things.” 

“Things?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You sound like a cat who’s trying to swallow a bird and talk at the same time.” 

“A cat? Why a cat?” 

“Well, you’re terribly clever and smart.” Edward spoke, before a lazy grin sprawled onto his face as he moved closer to Thomas who watched him closely. 

Leaning in, Edward whispered, “And you’re very flexible too.” 

Needless to say, Thomas Barrow turned about ten shades of red, but he wouldn’t let Edward know that, opting instead to mutter something about hopeless romantics getting everything that they wanted.

That didn’t stop him from rolling his eyes and leaning in to press a kiss to Edward’s lips, who only hummed in delight and stretched out like a lazy cat, using one Thomas Barrow as a pillow for the couch that they had been sprawled upon the entirety of the afternoon. 

iii.

Thomas Barrow never did like Christmas, or New Years, or whatever holiday it was that sent people in a flurry of stampedes to spend money on things that , whoever was the recipient was, would probably be returned back to the store anyway. 

(He remembers the thinly veiled sneers, the words that would sink under his skin, stone cold dinners with empty bottles littered everywhere)

Edward on the other hand, thinks Christmas is great, much to Thomas’ amusement.

“C’mon, how can you not like Christmas songs ? They’re only the most catchiest songs in the history of the world and you can’t say otherwise!” Edward says, as they slowly made their way down the street along 5th avenue, where the bustling air of holiday shoppers was high and mighty, and their hands were clasped together, scarfs and hats and mittens and all. 

“They’re annoying. And besides, who would believe that a man in a sleigh with reindeer of all animals, would go around the world and deliver presents to all the good children of the world in under 24 hours? It just doesn’t make sense!” Thomas retorted. 

“And you sound like the Grinch, Mr. Barrow.” Edward replied, a smile on his face. 

Thomas could only mutter and huff and puff and whine that this was all so unnecessary and why couldn’t they just stay home and make a blanket fort and drink hot chocolate and sleep all day. 

Edward could only chuckle and tug him along through the sea of people, a jump to his step as he heard the familiar songs that he grew up with, fire place burning, with blankets and a tree that reached the top of their ceiling, way back when he was a little kid.   
He remembers baking with his mother, chocolate chip cookies that were to be left out with special instructions for Santa – after all, a man with a job as important as his needed to refuel and get some energy and what better way than through cookies and milk? 

He remembers gingerbread houses and staying over relatives houses, and the springs of mistletoe that hung above the doorways. 

He never did have a Christmas kiss under a mistletoe, and it wasn’t like he was missing out on anything.  
It was just a kiss, right? 

iv.

Thomas doesn’t know why, but maybe it was the smile that Edward got whenever he heard a holiday song come on, or the sound of bells and the promise of snow. 

He thinks maybe they should do something small, something that they could share between the two of them, this Christmas. 

He’s busy sorting out the bookcases when Edward says “Hey, Thomas, did you ever get kissed underneath a mistletoe?”, and he almost bangs his head against the shelf from surprise, but manages to sputter out a ‘No’ and nervously chuckle at the thought. 

Edward doesn’t ask again, just nods once and goes back to sorting out the file cabinet. 

v. 

He leaves early, bundled up to the brim with scarves and woolen mittens and hats and he doesn’t know why but he decides to go and search for a mistletoe since it’s Christmas and he wasn’t exactly well known for his habit of gift giving. 

He went from flower shop to flower shop in hopes of finding exactly what he was looking for. 

Surely a mistletoe shouldn’t be that hard to find?

Luckily for Thomas Barrow, one flower shop had a few mistletoes left.

Rushing in, he hastily paid for the plant before rushing out with a smile and a grin and a “Happy Holidays” escaping him as he ran home and the clock ticked away as the sky grew dim. 

vi.

He stumbles in with a grin on his face and Edward hears him enter, getting up from the couch where he was dozing off and there’s a ‘Welcome home’ on his lips but before he could say anything, Thomas pulled him close, kissed him soundly on the lips and muttered “Mistletoe” 

Which earned him a laugh and a smile as bright as the sun from Edward, who wrapped his arms around him and that’s how they were, as the snow began to fall outside and they had the hum of a mistletoe kiss on their lips .


End file.
